The Face in the Mirror
by Eshe Returned
Summary: Someone gets their life back this Christmas.


DISCLAIMER: Yeah, no Harry Potter rights for Eshe. :( Don't own it...never will...just messin' around in her world.

A/N: This story is in response to watching the JKR special bit on my HBP DVD, and hearing what she said about George/Angelina.

**The Face in the Mirror**

I've kept going. It's really the best I can say for myself. I've never moved on...that would be impossible, but I've kept going. Sometimes I get so tired, and I want to stop, but I always keep going. I know what is waiting for me if I stop, and so I don't. Angelina...she's the same. Moving on is too much to ask for. We know that better than most, but moving...that we've always felt we could handle. People sometimes ask me how I'm feeling. I've never been able to understand that. I know they are concerned, I know they just want to help. I get all of that. What I don't understand is why they keep asking. Emotions are no longer transient for me. How I'm feeling one moment does not change in the next like it does with some people. How I'm feeling will never change again. Sometimes they tell me I'm looking better. I can't say otherwise. I haven't looked at myself in over ten years. Angelina and I work under a silent agreement that reflective surfaces are not allowed in our house. She understands. That's one of those things about living with her. She understands. Many of our agreements are silent.

She's stronger than me. I've never known how she could stand to be around me after it happened. I've never understood why she asked me to marry her. I've never quite understood why I agreed either. I won't lie and say that I live with her without pain, but somehow we do comfort each other. I think that no one else in the world quite understands us. Obviously, my entire family grieved and still does grieve over my twin, but they all have someone else. Angelina and I...we lost everything when we lost him.

Angelina and I found each other about one year after the funeral. She'd been almost like a sister to me, but neither of us could look at each other after it happened...until one night, she came to my house, puffy-eyed and wet-faced. I hadn't wanted to see her. It hurt me when she showed up at my door. I was angry with her even, but she just walked in, took one look at the spot on the wall where our floor-length mirror used to hang, and made her request. "Please don't say anything," she said, and then she walked over to me, stared at me for what felt like an hour, and buried her face in my chest, squeezing me in her arms. I knew her then...better than I ever had. I understood her. In that moment I knew her, and so I didn't speak. For a long time, that was the extent of our relationship. We never talked, but she would be there...every night, holding me. It was hard for me at first, but through frequent exposure, her presence grew to be comfortable and even comforting to me. She always stayed the night, burrowed into me, and she left in the morning before I woke up.

I almost didn't keep the shop. The day before Angelina came over that first night I had petitioned for the sale documents to be drawn up. The shop was a painful memory. I had gotten rid of everything else. The shop was the last shred of evidence that he had ever existed...until she showed up. She made me realize that I couldn't erase him. I was never going to be able to forget him. I knew that really, which is why I could get rid of his things, but I just wanted the pain to go away. I thought maybe if I got rid of everything, with time, I might be able to move on...if I wasn't reminded of him every moment of the day. Her presence reminded me that things were never going to be right again, so all that I could do was keep moving. The shop kept me moving, so the shop stayed. The pain was still there, but seeing Angelina see me everyday, helped me put it in perspective. At least I didn't have to see his face. The mirrors were long gone by the night she came.

Angelina does things. She always scopes out the restaurants we go to in advance to make sure they don't have mirrors or anything else that might disturb me. She takes all the floo calls, and if someone starts to upset me, she calls me to come do dishes or take out the trash while she gets rid of them. She answers the door. She writes the Christmas Cards. She buys the gifts. She gets the owls. Angelina answers for me if someone asks me an upsetting question. She watches every film first, to make sure they're safe. She reads every book first, and listens to every song first. She never takes her fingers from the off switch when we listen to the radio. Angelina does these things. She does them for me, but also for her, because we have opposite problems. I can never forget him, and she worries she will. She'll never move on though. She keeps moving too, that's why she worries. She worries that the movement may take her somewhere, but I know better. She does too, but she still worries. She does that for me as well.

We always spend Christmas with my family. Angelina's is gone. She does all the prep work to make sure the entire event is as painless as possible for me. She helps me with my smile too. She always nudges me if it's not looking convincing, which helps me around my family. The more you smile, the less they ask.

This Christmas is no exception. I feel all of their eyes on me as I come in. I smile, Angelina nudges, and I smile harder, even though it's harder to do. I carry our bags into the second-floor bedroom which used to be Bill's and then Ginny's. Angelina cleared this room out the very first Christmas we spent in it together, and no one touches it except when we come. Angelina comes in after a few minutes. There's been something different about her lately, but I just can't seem to squash it down in my mind. There's really no focus in me. I've gotten so used to moving that staying still long enough to pin anything down is a nearly impossible task. I'm not overly worried. Angelina doesn't make me work too hard for these things. She's better at communicating than me.

"George, I have something potentially upsetting to give you from Harry."

This is exactly what I mean. She doesn't make me guess at things. She simply hands me the small package. Angelina always asks everyone what they've gotten me. It's another one of those things she does, but with this one, I can tell she unwrapped it before re-wrapping it to give to me. That means someone wouldn't tell her what they got me. That means they knew it would be upsetting. What was most disturbing was that she knew that, unwrapped it, knows exactly what it is, and she is still choosing

to give it to me. I frown.

"Should I open it?"

Angelina nods. I've trusted her with these decisions for as long as we've been married and more, but something in the way she's looking at me, something in the words she said is making me anxious, but I don't know what else to do. I've relied on her too much for too long. I'm not sure I'm capable of making these choices on my own anymore, so I open the package. I wish she would have warned me. It's him. I can feel my heart stopping, my throat closing. Now I feel Angelina's fingers soft on my face. My eyes can't see her. I must have shut them. I'm not sure I want to open them again. What could she be thinking? What could Harry have been thinking? A mirror? Why would they do this to me!? I have no choice. I sob into her shirt. It's like a nightmare. It's surely the worst Christmas present ever, and all I can manage to ask is, "Why?"

Angelina soothes me. She makes cooing noises. She rubs my hair. She kisses my eyelids. Angelina does these things, but this time...it doesn't work. I think that this time, I'm dying. "George, shhh, George, it's okay." She takes me into her arms, but nothing is going to be okay.

I cling to her, I try to erase the image...Fred staring back at me from that stupid piece of glass. It won't go away. I can't forget how he looked. His hair was longer, he'd gotten older, he looked so sad. Fred is suffering too. I feel the compulsion then. It's like strings are connected to my hands, and some cruel puppet master releases Angelina from my grasp, grabs for the mirror, and brings it up to my face, and there he is again. The pain feels...good. I choke then, and Angelina is at my side, rubbing my back. I lean onto her shoulder with Fred facing us, and I know that I'm not going to die. I've been trying to erase him for too long. I've been trying to forget. It's causing him anguish. I can see now that this isn't what he'd want for me. "What do you see George?" Angelina asks. "It's him Angie. It's Fred." She looks at me sadly then. "George..." I look into the mirror again. Part of me knows the real function of a mirror. Part of me knows that this is really just my reflection, but can she understand how foreign my reflection is to me after ten years? Can she understand that I see him? Can she understand that I've stopped now, and that it's not as bad as I'd pictured. I can still feel him almost. I think I can still guess his thoughts. All these things Angelina does for me...it's time she didn't. I think I'm ready to see him now. I look at the mirror again, and he looks happier. The next time I look in a mirror, maybe he'll have moved on. Maybe next time I look, I'll see me again. Angelina strokes my face then. She's always known what I need, and she's always understood me better than anyone else. It's hard for me to imagine, but she's been seeing him this whole time. I wonder then if I can ever make her see me. What would that mean for us? She's smiling at me now.

She slowly moves off the bed. "George, I know this may not be the best time, but I have something to give you too." She goes to her trunk then and takes a bulky envelope off the top. She packed the trunks. I had no idea there was anything in them besides clothes. I look into the mirror again, and I realize now that it's like waking up.

Angelina pulls a packet of papers out of the envelope and carefully sets them on my lap. "George, I don't think you need me anymore. I'll never forget what we've done together...what we've done for each other, but it's time for you...us to move on. I know how painful Fred's death was for you. I've helped you try to erase it, helped you try to stay busy and forget for eight years now. When I saw what Harry was giving you, my instinct was to shatter it, but he told me the story then, and I'm going to tell you. I hope you'll listen and hear me, because once I heard it, I couldn't shatter the mirror, and I don't think you should either. Harry got that mirror from Sirius before he died. When Dumbledore died too, Harry used to think he saw Albus's eye in it from time to time. It turned out later that it was Aberforth on the mirror's twin, but Harry's always kept it. He looked for Sirius when he died you know...in that mirror. He found Dumbledore (of a sorts) when he was dead...in that mirror. He knows it's not real, but he still believes in magic. I hope you really did see Fred." Angelina takes a gasping breath, and I see now so much more clearly. She looks so tired. "Harry got both mirrors when Aberforth died," she continues. "He still has the other one if you want to talk with him. He's lost a lot of people he loves too, but he's moved on. I think..." Angelina looks down, and I know it's because she's crying, "...I think he's who you need right now...more than me. I really hope you won't be hurt, but I think a divorce would be the best thing...for both of us. It's time you got your life back. I know it may not seem like it right now, but these papers are me trying to give that to you."

"Do you have a quill?" I ask.


End file.
